


Preoccupied

by sergeant_angel



Series: The Red String of Fate [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Young Avengers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Sex is Awkward, Discussions of Pegging, F/M, First Times, Light BDSM, M/M, Moscow on the Hudson, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, happy multiamory march, look i know i need jesus, mentions of fisting, this might be the ship name i'm not sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_angel/pseuds/sergeant_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate, Steve, and Bucky decide to stop wallowing in all their UST.<br/>(The missing smutty chapter from Preoccupation of Souls.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preoccupied

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Preoccupation of Souls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167064) by [sergeant_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_angel/pseuds/sergeant_angel). 



> Like 99% of what I do, this was originally much shorter and much funnier. And, like ALL of what I do, unbeta'ed so I'm sure there's an awkward mistake in here somewhere.  
> Come hang out with me on [Ye Olde Tumblr](http://sergeant-angels-trashcan.tumblr.com/) where I post unedited trash, take requests, and answer your burning questions.

For a moment, everything is too overwhelming. Bucky and Steve aren’t rejecting her--nothing is ruined, and she can’t catch her breath.

“All right there, doll?” Bucky asks, crowding into her and Steve. She curls a hand over his cheek; does the same to Steve.

“ _All right_ seems kind of inadequate,” she says after a minute. “Like saying the Pyramids are basically big triangles or Stark is a little vain. Doesn’t quite cover it.”

Steve muffles a chuckle against her shoulder.

“Stark? Really?” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I know I’m the one who mentioned him but let’s stop talking about Tony,” Kate stares at Bucky for a minute before finally making up her mind, using her free hand to pull Bucky’s hair free of the rubber band and scratch her nails along his scalp. His eyes slide closed and a sigh deflates him of tension she hadn’t realized he was carrying. Another pass; her nails scratch a little harder this time, tugging the hair close to his scalp, and Bucky’s eyes snap back open. Something wild is in his eyes, something Kate realizes she’s gotten glimpses of before, a second before it’s gone.

It doesn’t go away this time, and Kate’s stomach clenches. It’s a simple thing, really, to tug Bucky closer by his hair and fit her mouth against his.

When he sets his teeth into the soft flesh of her lower lip and bites, her hips rock against the nearest available surface, which happens to be Steve’s leg.

“Fuck, you two are rude,” Steve groans, pressing Kate harder against the wall.

“Don’t recall anyone saying you couldn’t participate,” Bucky’s growl typically does all sorts of things to Kate; now, if anything, it’s worse, and she grinds against Steve’s leg again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says again, and then there are hands at her waist and lips on her neck, lick, lick, bite, _suck_ , and when _that_ rush of arousal dies down, she’s a good foot and a half taller, legs bracketing Steve’s waist and back to kissing Bucky—

Kate feels spoiled. There’s got to be some universal law about this sort of thing, about getting to be a superhero, about having _Bucky and Steve’s_ mouths all over you, about getting to watch them make out, god, she’s greedy and doesn’t care.

Steve’s hips rock against hers and she can feel him, hot and hard even through her jeans and his—half a glimpse once, she _knows_ he’s big, but feeling how big is a whole different game.

“Why are you still wearing pants?” she snaps.

“Why are _you_?” Steve counters. “Fucking clothes—"

Which, naturally, is when Kate’s stomach growls long and loud.

“So you’re staying for dinner, then?” Bucky asks, pulling back. He’s going for an innocent look and failing to succeed, his face faintly flushed and his eyes barely open and his lips are red and there is nothing Kate wants more in that moment than to pin him to the floor and sit on his face.

“We cooking it or ordering it?” Kate clears her throat to cover for herself. She really needs to get that impulse under control.

“ _We_ are not cooking it,” Bucky rolls his eyes at her, tickling his fingers along her side—when did his hand wind up under her shirt? How do you _miss_ something like that?

As if in answer, Steve puts his lips to the side of her neck and _bites_ , which makes everything go a little hazy for a second.

So _that’s_ how.

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve pleads, resting his chin on her shoulder. “If you tell us what to do, we can’t mess anything up.”

Kate can’t turn her head to see the look Steve is giving Bucky, but she imagines it’s very lost-puppydoglike. Experimentally, she leans her head against Steve’s and heaves a deep sigh, blinking very slowly, trying to look as pathetic as possible.

“ _Dammit_ ,” Bucky growls. “That’s not fair.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about, Buck,”

“ _Fine_ ,” Bucky continues as if he hadn’t heard Steve. “But _nobody_ adds anything without my go-ahead, and _nobody_ ,” he glares at both of them in turn. “I mean _nobody_ puts anything in the oven unless I tell them to.”

* * *

“Out!”

It’s fifteen minutes into dinner prep and there’s a half-assembled lasagna on the counter.

“Get out of my kitchen _right now_ ,” Bucky repeats, this time with an added hand gesture.

“Wow,” Kate says, just as Steve chimes in with “ _Your_ kitchen?”

“Out!”

“Jesus, we’re going,” Steve mutters, hitching Kate higher and more securely up on his back. “Honestly, you’d think—"

“Leave the baguette.”

Kate tosses the bread in question unerringly back on the cutting board.

“Don’t toss—were you raised in a _barn?_ ”

Bucky mutters something aggressive-sounding that Kate doesn’t catch as she and Steve relocate to the living room.

“Darce sent me an episode of _I Love the 90s_ that she thought you might like,” Kate attempts to swing to Steve’s front and drop to the couch as she says it, not anticipating his firm grip on her knee that winds up with both of them collapsing in a heap on said couch.

He manages to keep most of his weight off of her, which is great, because being crushed to death by Steve in a distinctly un-sexual context is just tragic.

“Sorry,” Steve bites his lip, eyes half-lidded and voice low. The kind of voice that has Kate suppressing a squirm as her stomach turns into wings. “I tripped.”

Kate’s about to make a sarcastic comment about that truly awful come-on when Common-Sense Kate in the back of her head starts yelling. _When Steve Rogers lands on top of you with bedroom eyes and sexy voice you don’t criticize his choice of words you_ kiss him _with added bonus of shutting him up. Jesus! Why do I have to explain this stuff to you?_

 _I do not know,_ Kate answers herself, and proceeds to hook her leg over his and press her fingers to the back of Steve’s neck, pulling herself up and him down.

“Better make sure nothing’s broken,” her lips brush against his.

Kate is grateful when Steve kisses her, if only because she’s not positive she could staunch the flow of cheesiness herself.

Steve is less aggressive this go-round, peppering her with soft kisses and it’s sort of adorable and makes Kate feel a little like she’s being worshipped but also like Steve is trying to get a rise out of her.

Irritating man.

She pulls down on his neck harder and it gives her a satisfied little thrill when he bends under her hand.

Steve Rogers _whimpers_ , she thinks gleefully, catching the noise in her mouth. The realization settles in her gut with warm satisfaction. Kate catches his lower lip between her teeth and bites— this time the noise is a shuddery exhale. She bites harder and wonders if Steve is all quiet noises or if she can wring gasps and shouts out of him. Wonders if Bucky does, wonders what gets that kind of reaction from Steve, from both of them.

She can’t justify needing to know these things for science, but she _does_ lead an Avengers team, so probably for…communication? Solidarity? She swipes her tongue along Steve’s lip to soothe the bite.

His lips now trek down her neck. With a sigh, she presses herself against him as best she can—which is to say not well at all.

He makes a noise—Kate’s not entirely sure if this one should be classified as a whine, a moan, or—

Steve presses his teeth into her skin and _sucks_ , effectively rerouting her thought processes into the garbled ideas of _more, need, Steve,_ and _now._

Steve’s hand trails down her side, landing on the fly of her pants—which is great except she needs more _now_ now, not thirty seconds from now now. He’s smart, though; in order to keep from crushing her he’s got a knee between her thighs that is perfect for grinding against. Clever, perfect Steve, who has managed to unbutton her jeans while rocking his hips against her. This is the kind of multitasking initiative she can get behind.

Steve’s fingers are trailing along the waistband of her underwear, as if he’s merely toying with the idea of shoving his hand down her pants, when something hits the coffee table with a metallic clink. Kate has a sudden, sickening moment of horror until she remembers that Bucky is here, which calms her nerves but effectively dissipates all the nice _fuck-me-Steve_ feelings she’s got going.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Bucky sinks into the armchair, taking a long draw from the bottle in his hand. “Dinner’s ready, but by all means. Can’t say I’d mind dinner and a show.”

“Don’t be crass,” Kate shoves at Steve until he’s more or less no longer on top of her. “No show until we discuss hard limits and soft limits.”

“Oh, all right,” Bucky sighs in mock impatience. He surveys her then, head cocked as though evaluating her before tugging her to her feet. “Steve likes to be tied up.”

He says it like it’s no big thing, like it’s boring, like you’d say, _oh, all the salad forks were dirty_ or _we’re out of salt._ He says it so casual it sails right on by her for a second before her brain scrabbles frantically after the words and assigns an image to them.

She can’t decide if she likes the picture of Steve tied to a bed or Steve with his arms bound up with something from the ceiling. Does he like pain? Would a crop even register, or would he respond more to a cane? Would he liked being collared? That brings up a new image of Bucky collaring Steve. Evil Bucky Barnes who has fucked her all to hell, how is she ever supposed to get anything done ever again with an image like that just wandering through her head? Steve kneeling while Bucky collars him—

“ _Ow_ ,” she grumbles, rubbing her shoulder. “Where—what?”

Bucky is cackling.

“You—ran—into—a— _wall_ ,” he huffs out between laughs. “Your brain just shorted out right in front of us.”

“My brain did no such thing,” she responds primly. “I had something in my eye and missed it.”

“The wall?” Steve blinks at her, all innocence. “You missed…the wall? The wall that you see almost every day? The wall that has never moved?”

“You know what, mister—"

“Children, children,” Bucky shoves them towards the table. “Manners.”

Kate isn’t sure what her face is doing right now, but it’s making _Steve’s_ face do concerned things.

“It’s okay—we don’t hafta—“ he shakes his head. “Jesus, Buck, you can’t _lead_ with stuff like that—"

Which is when Kate realizes that Steve is afraid he is _too kinky for her_ and she kind of wants to tie him to the table right now while she and Bucky eat and she’s almost entirely certain it’s not possible to die of horniness but if it is—

“Crop or cane?” she manages to get out. If she’s going to expire at the dinner table she needs to know.

“What?” Steve’s jaw drops while Bucky grins.

“Crop or cane? I need to know so I have the visual right.”

“Dinner first,” Bucky steers her by the elbow to the table. “We’re probably going to burn through a lot of calories tonight.”

* * *

Dinner is eaten, and dessert, which is tiramisu, because Bucky is a far better person than Kate can ever hope to be; safe words have been discussed because they all have a lot of issues and it’s just common sense.

Kate surveys the sad remnants of what was once dinner. There are no leftovers in this house.

“Last bite,” Bucky offers her a spoon with the last dregs of tiramisu on it.

Kate takes it, sighing as she lets the creamy coffee-ness of it melt on her tongue. Another sigh, pulled up from her toes as she sits back in her chair. This feels good, this feels _right._ She hasn’t been so—so bone-deep content in months, it feels.

“This is nice,” she says finally.

“What is?” Steve asks.

“This. Dinner. Us.”

“We’ve had dinner before,” Steve points out.

“Yeah, but not like—not like this.” Kate shrugs, unable to put it into words better than that; that there’s a layer of tension she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying around until she wasn’t, that dinner is different when she can play footsie with Steve and reach over and squeeze Bucky’s hand without worrying she’s crossing some line.

“Thank you for dinner,” she tells Bucky, dragging him close by the collar to plant a kiss on his lips. “It was lovely.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says, leaning back in, running his tongue across the seam of her lips.

Kate hums in agreement, shifting as he moves back so that she’s precariously perched half on her seat, braced with her hand on the back of Bucky’s chair.

Bucky’s tongue does not leave her mouth even as his hands grip her hips and pull her on to his lap, her knees pressed against the outsides of his thighs. His hands slide under her shirt, locking his fingers together at the small of her back, hot and cold, and Kate is sort of amazed at how she can go from content to needy in the span of minutes.

He kisses his way down her neck and Kate takes the opportunity to thread her fingers through his silky hair.

“Steve,” Bucky growls into her shoulder. “Don’t.”

“What?” Steve says in his desperately-trying-not-to-sound-guilty voice.

“I can _see_ you thinking it, Steve. Don’t act like I don’t know you.”

“Mmm, what’s he thinking?” Kate drags Bucky’s head up, sucking his upper lip between hers.

“He wants to sketch us.”

That sends another fizz of warm contentment shooting through Kate, paired with the slightest twinge of annoyance. “Steve, I’m all for you using your hands, but I have a better idea.”

Steve slides his chair closer to her and Bucky.

“I’m all ears.”

“I was thinking—” Bucky sucks hard on the tender skin of her neck, but she manages to pick her train of thought back up—“and let me know what you think—I was thinking you could stick your hands under my shirt?”

Steve’s hands go under her shirt…to her back.

She just about to growl some very rude things at Steve when she feels a tug on the band of her bra—Steve’s hands are on her arms—and then Bucky curls his tongue against hers—

Steve drapes her bra over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Is that why they call you the Star-Spangled Man With a Plan?” she manages.

“Yes, because removing women’s underthings is a crucial part of fighting for freedom,” he snarks.

“You took my bra off without taking my shirt off, that’s not a common skill. If the whole superhero thing doesn’t work out, I think the three of us could manage a life of crime pretty well.”

“It’s always good to have a plan B,” Steve agrees.

“Should I leave while you two banter?” Bucky crosses his arms and sits back in the chair, his jaw set in such a way that Kate really just has to kiss it.

Kate feels Bucky’s responding growl as much as she hears it; he spreads a cool metal hand across her lower back to keep her in place as he draws Steve in for a kiss.

Kate can feel Bucky get harder against her as his tongue slides into Steve’s mouth, his free hand tugging at Steve’s hair to angle his head differently. Kate’s blood can’t decide where it wants to go: to her face, to her stomach, to her pussy, she’s so turned on she is literally hot, she’s going to burst into flames right here.  

In the meantime, though, she may as well start unfastening Steve’s pants. She’s _just_ got the zipper down when he pulls back from Bucky with a gasp. “Maybe—we could move to the bedroom?”

It’s a solid plan. Bucky simply grips her tighter and stands—

And then there are mouths—very lovely mouths—and _finally_ her pants come off, she thinks they might have gotten flung under the kitchen table—someone’s shirt is caught on a light fixture, that’s a fire hazard—it’s hard to pay attention to things like that when Steve is running his thumbs across her nipples.

_Note to self: shirt landed on the DVD shelf._

Steve has her hoisted up, her legs wrapped more around his chest than his waist, nosing along the underside of a breast, licking his way up to her nipple. His mouth closes around the peak and she can’t help the content sigh that escapes her. He gives the opposite nipple a gentle lick before setting her on the bed.

There’s a flurry of movement, a frenzy to get clothes off and condoms on and everyone ready—

It’s too desperate, Kate realizes a little belatedly. They’re acting like they are simply starved for one another, that the allure of one another’s skin is a craving too strong, the need to be pressed close to Steve and Bucky too frantic.

Someone’s going to pull something, and it’s probably going to be her, she decides, easing herself on to Steve’s cock.

God _damn._ She’s going to need a minute.

Bucky presses the blunt head of his cock against her asshole, not to any real purpose, just pressure, pressing against her, pressing her just a bit more on to Steve—

Steve’s hips buck hard, as if he was expecting her momentum to be arrested by Bucky’s weight, maybe thinking they were farther along than they were, and Kate and Bucky go toppling to the floor.

Kate shakes against Bucky’s chest.

“Kate? Are you hurt—" Bucky strokes his hands along her, probably checking for injuries, when Kate finally gets a gulp of air big enough to let out an audible laugh.

She snorts, and snorts again, laughing so hard she can’t breathe. “Okay,” she gasps, tears streaking down her cheeks. “So this is going to require some choreography.”

Steve and Bucky stare at her. And stare.

Steve cracks first, a smile, then a grin, then a chuckle that evolves into a deep laugh that doubles him over.

Bucky maintains his composure for a little longer before he, too, falls back against the floor, laughing.

“So maybe this time we should just streamline the whole operation?” Kate prods Steve’s knee with her foot. “Any preferences?”

“I wanna see you come,” Bucky says immediately.

“Me, too,” Steve sits up, arms over his knees.

“Wow, I feel popular.”

“Already seen each other come,” Bucky shrugs.

“Well I haven’t,” she reminds them.

“Not to point out the obvious,” Steve says. “But it’s not like there’s an expiration date on this.”

Which Kate sort of figured, but it’s good to hear out loud anyway.

“What,” she says, catching something in Bucky’s eyes she doesn’t like. “What’s that? You look all…melancholy.”

“This is a little surreal,” he admits. “Two days ago you were lying in a pile of rubble and I thought you were dead.”

A tiny little crack opens inside Kate. “Okay,” she clears her throat, dragging Bucky up on the bed with her. “This got serious really fast.”

“Sorry—" Bucky’s apology is cut off by a sharp intake of breath as Kate starts kissing and nipping her way across his ribs. Bucky squirms, gasps in air, finally letting out a wild, high-pitched giggle.

“Are you _ticklish_?” Kate can feel her eyes go wide. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Everyone’s—ticklish—when you do— _that_ —" he gasps out. “Fuck.”

Kate sits up enough to give Steve a questioning eyebrow— _stop me if this isn’t okay_ —and leans back down, pressing her lips against the thick bands of scar tissue that surround Bucky’s bionic arm.

She’s gentle with it, taking her time; this is something she’s wanted to do for a while, maybe longer than she’s wanted to have sex with him. Kate puts the ridges of traumatized tissue between her lips and Bucky’s hand cradles her head, the metal warmed by her scalp.

Some of her kisses land on metal as well as flesh, some scars she grazes with her teeth, the ones that radiate out from the prosthetic like a starburst. The moments are suspended in time, only the soft, wet sounds of skin on skin breaking the silence.

“Is somebody going to come up with a plan, or—" Steve catches his breath and Kate looks up to see Bucky’s other hand leisurely stroking Steve’s cock. “I mean, this works for _me_.”

Steve’s right. They need a plan. Kate’s mostly impressed Bucky can jerk Steve off at that angle. She trails a hand down the hard planes of Steve’s chest, down his stomach, wrapping her hand around Bucky’s to still the movement.

“Whaddya say, Hawkeye?” Bucky asks, eyebrow raised.

“I think Bucky should be in the middle,” she says, voice much throatier than she’d realized. “So we can convince him how alive we are.”

“Fuck,” the word hisses long and low through Steve’s teeth and Bucky’s eyes on her, like she’s brilliant—

Well, she _is_ , but it’s nice to have genius recognized.

“That sound all right, Bucky?” she asks, just to be sure.

“Sounds better than all right.”

Positions are shuffled, a new condom for Bucky grabbed, which isn’t exactly sexy but Kate can honestly say she’s never seen anything done so quickly—there is a _lot_ to be said for supersoldier reflexes and she’s just happy to watch.

She is also happy to watch them kiss; Bucky’s tongue in Steve’s mouth and silver fingers fisted in golden hair.

Not that she hasn’t ever seen them make out—on accident, hastily looking away because you’re not supposed to _stare_ when your friends do that. But now she’s got permission to watch. She gets to watch Bucky put his teeth in Steve’s neck, the almost-vicious bite that has Steve grinding against Bucky.

Kate slides two fingers into herself, her thumb nestled against her clit, just for some pressure. She doesn’t want to be distracted too much from the image in front of her, but it’s too good to not get some sort of relief.

She must let out a whimper without realizing it, because Bucky’s eyes snap open and find hers, traveling down her body to where she’s got two fingers buried inside her cunt.

“Sorry, doll,” he says, pulling Steve back by his hair. “Forgot our manners.”

“I’m fine,” the statement comes out more breathless than she’d like, and causes Steve to smile at her.

“Could be better, though?” he asks.

“Oh, you know,” she shrugs against the pillows. Bucky crawls up the bed to her and she shudders when his skin slides against hers, a sensation she hadn’t realized she’d been craving.

“May I?” he nods down to her fingers.

“Go ahead.”

He slides her hand out and Kate whimpers at the loss of sensation. “I got you, doll,” Bucky reassures her, sucking her fingers into his mouth, his tongue lapping her juices off.

“Fuck,” she manages.

“Right,” he says, holding his weight off of her, bracing on his knees. “Steve?”

There’s the click of the lid of a tube of lube, Bucky hissing as Steve stretches him—

“Damnit, Steve, I’m ready,” Bucky snaps, and Kate raises an eyebrow.

“Hardly the first time we’ve done this, Hawkeye,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Well then,” she says, sliding her pussy along his cock, teasing him before finally positioning his tip at her entrance. She lets him slide in, just a bit, and then Steve is pushing into Bucky, pushing Bucky into her, deep, _deep_ , all the air rushing out of her lungs, and fuck, it’s good.

A warm hand grips the back of her knee, pulling her harder against Bucky. She doesn’t even have to look; the hand is Steve’s, thick fingers, broad palm, calluses soft from wearing gloves all the time.

“Everybody—okay?” Steve pants out.

“Jesus Christ somebody better _move_ ,” Kate snaps, because her orgasm is just right there, so _close,_ she hadn’t realized just how close until now. “ _Please_!”

“We’re good, Steve, _go_ ,” Bucky reassures him, brushing his lips across Kate’s temple, across her lips, down her neck, catching some of the tender skin there in his mouth and sucking just as Steve thrusts Bucky farther into her in a strange and beautiful tandem.

There’s a precarious moment where Bucky shifts his weight on to one hand, she sound of Steve’s hips slapping against Bucky’s ass filling the still air, but then Bucky’s thumb is circling her clit, once, twice, his cock pumping into her, and she starts to come.

Her muscles start to clench, her pussy fluttering around Bucky, and it just doesn’t stop, every thrust back in sets of a stronger wave of tremors, and she can hear herself saying “Please, please, please pleaseplease,” not that she knows what she’s asking for at this point—more, less, everything, ever—Steve catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and a fine white haze surrounds her for a few moments, where she feels Bucky go rigid against her, pressing his face to her neck to muffle a moan, his hips jerking against her.

Part of her brain kicks back online, taking in the taut muscles of Steve’s neck, straining, _straining_ to come, and she didn’t actually think her arms were long enough to reach around Bucky to press behind Steve’s balls, but, yep, they are, and Steve’s eyes squeeze shut, his head thrown back and neck in a taut line, fingers digging into her leg and Bucky’s hips before collapsing forward.

There’s a moment where Bucky shudders a bit under Steve’s full weight and Kate thinks if moving was something she was capable of, it would be a good idea, because roughly four hundred pounds of Avenger is not something she wants to have fall on top of her.

And then there are the shuddery-too-empty moments when Steve pulls out of Bucky and Bucky pulls out of her, followed by utter collapse into a pile on the bed.

“Was that good for everybody?” Kate asks. It feels like someone else is using her voice from very far away.

Bucky offers a breathy laugh in response. Steve grunts.

“Great. Wake me up for round three.”

“Not round two?” Steve sounds like he sat up to ask it.

“Round two? What’s that going to be for you guys, in like three minutes? I don’t have superserum, you’re going to have to give me a couple minutes. Round three. Unless you want an audience for round two. I’m fine with that.”

* * *

Kate is in that strange dreamspace of not-quite-sleep-not-yet-awake where nothing seems strange, when she realizes that muffled moans and quiet gasps of air _aren’t_ exactly normal and her eyes fly open.

To the lovely view of a wall.

Nice.

“So,” she rolls over to see Steve on his elbows and knees, head dropped between his shoulders. “Can I expect to be woken up like this a lot?”

Steve’s response comes in the form of a drawn-out moan.

“Seven of ten,” Bucky says, and Kate props herself up on her elbows to see what’s got Steve in such a lather.

In a show of perfect timing, she moves just in time to see three of Bucky’s fingers slide into Steve’s ass.

“Wow, Steve,” she manages, combing her fingers through his hair. “How did you manage to stay so quiet?”

Bucky must crook his fingers, because Steve’s answer is another moan.

“He was tryin’ to be polite,” Bucky smirks at her. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“That was very sweet, Steve, thank you,” and it is, so she drops a gentle kiss to the curve of his ear, catching sight of Steve’s cock pumping into Bucky’s loose fist.

“Anything I can help with?”

“Have you ever--?” Bucky inclines his head towards Steve’s ass.

Kate shakes her head. “No, actually.”

“C’mon,” Bucky beckons her with a jerk of his head, sliding over so she can sit next to him, pressed to his side. “Steve’n me don’t need as much prep as your average Joe, on account of the serum, and it’s not like this is his first time—"

“Jesus, Buck, can you _get a move on_?”

“I have theoretical knowledge, just no practical application,” Kate admits, coating two fingers in lube, pressing them next to Bucky’s. The metal is warm from Steve’s flesh, the slick, hard surface a contrast to Steve’s firm muscles rippling around her fingers. She wonders if Steve can even tell her fingers are in him, they’re so narrow and almost inconsequential next to Bucky’s digits.

“Kate?” Steve says, voice thin as glass.

“Yes, Steve?” she smooths her free hand across the knobs of his spine.

“Are you—"

She curls her fingers inside him experimentally and he lets out a yelp.

“Goddamn it— _fuck_ me!”

“I didn’t think far enough ahead to bring my strap-on, Steve—"

“Fuck!” the word bursts out of Steve, his hips jerking as he fucks into Bucky’s hand, the muscles of his ass clenching hard around her and Bucky’s fingers.

She keeps her hands still—both of them—one a solid pressure on Steve’s lower back, trusting Bucky to let her know if she needs to move.

“So,” Steve finally says, a laugh half-huffing out of his lungs. “That was a visual I hadn’t been expecting.”

“No kidding,” Bucky agrees, his eyes dark on Kate’s as he rounds on her, putting a hand on her cheek and drawing her in for a very thorough kiss.

And his hand is sticky with Steve’s come but hey. Grosser things have happened.

“Doing okay, Steve?” she asks when Bucky’s mouth finally leaves hers to nip his way down her neck.

“Can’t complain. Wouldn’t mind a little _more_ , but,” and he shrugs as best he can with his weight on his elbows and five fingers from two hands in his ass, which is actually pretty well and she’s impressed. She’s about to tell him as much when Bucky’s mouth finds her breast, his tongue swiping over her nipple, grazing his teeth over it and soothing with another lick.

Her body is half-headed to thinking about an orgasm, not in any particular hurry, her mind enjoying the slightly out-of-focus image of Steve, and collars, letting her fuck him while he sucks Bucky’s cock.

In the real world, Bucky releases her nipple with a low _pop_ , which Kate protests.

“I can’t tell you things if I have my mouth full of your tits, perfect though they are,” Bucky informs her. As if by way of apology, he cradles her breast in his hand, tracing his thumb around the areola.

“Now, sometimes,” Bucky’s voice is rough and glittering, like raw diamonds, raking through her and making her clench, “sometimes, he’s all worked up and desperate,” Bucky pants now, his other hand on Steve’s neck, forcing him down to his elbows, “He takes all of it.”

“All—of it?” Kate can hear her own voice, faint as she pictures it, just like this but _more_ , Bucky’s glorious silver hand and Steve’s perfect body, creamy skin and tight ass and she has never wanted to see anything more in her life.

The visual would seem to be just as appealing to Steve, who utters a high-pitched whine. “Buck—please—"

“What’cha need, Stevie?” Bucky brings his lips to Steve’s ear, voice low and fond. Something inside Kate eases, just a little. Trusting Bucky; trusting Bucky to take care of Steve and being trusted, in return, to take care of both of them.

“Need—Kate, can you—“ Steve tries, squeezes her hand, and in a move Kate can’t track, Bucky has flipped Steve on to his back, erection bobbing red and slick in the dim light. The angles is all wrong for her to see, but she _hears_ the slick slide of skin as Bucky sinks into Steve, the low groan that seems to come from his chest, and Kate feels absolutely certain that _this_ is exactly why she saves New York, the US, and occasionally the world.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ve got you,” Kate soothes, stroking his hair back from his face. “Perfect, perfect Steve, we’ve got you, yeah?”

Steve rolls his head against her leg, pressing a sloppy kiss to her thigh.

“Almost, Hawkeye,” Bucky grins at her, and then Bucky’s free hand slides under her ass and _tugs_ and she’s no longer cradling Steve’s head, she’s sitting on his face as Bucky fucks him.

Steve doesn’t screw around, his tongue digging into her, _slurping_ at her like he’s fucking starved for her. The noise sends a tremor that works its way into a full shudder as it travels up her spine, the noise _he_ makes somehow coming out of _her_ mouth. It’s the noise as much as anything else that sends her over, every muscle in her body clamping down, her thighs squeezing his head.

Her hands scrabble for purchase on something—anything—and land on the tube of lube, which works just fine for her. Kate slicks up her palm before curling her hand around Steve’s dick, and he moans into her.

Bucky closes his hand around hers, tightening her grip around Steve. “He don’t mind it a little rough, Hawk.”

She doesn’t honestly think she’s got another orgasm in her at this point, but Steve’s tongue is gentle, almost hypnotic as it slides through her folds. He hadn’t needed to pay much attention to her clit before; she’d been too worked up by the mental pictures—but Steve makes up for it now, flicking his tongue across it, pressing one of his callused fingers against it.

And then Steve is coming in her hand, his come splattering up Bucky’s chest and a little on her; Bucky’s eyes wild and a little triumphant and his pace goes erratic but he still manages to slide a cool hand down her stomach to press a metal finger against her clit, and it’s just—it’s _perfect_ , a short, sweet moment where the world goes hazy and still, her body shuddering and clenching.

She tips to the side and topples to the bed, grasping for Steve’s hand as Bucky pulls out of him, sending a shudder through Steve.

“Jesus, Steve,” she says once her head stops buzzing. “I don’t know how you and Bucky ever get anything done when your mouth’s that perfect.” Her lips still feel a little numb, god forbid, like she can’t feel her face.

“Isn’t it just?” Bucky agrees, pressing himself against Steve’s other side.

“It’s a struggle,” Steve fishes around before finally finding her hand and squeezing it. “We’ll manage, though.”

* * *

Kate aches. Every single part of her body feels sore, from her scalp to her toes. Robots. Robots are the worst.

She stirs, thinking that maybe she’ll get up and get something to eat—doesn’t seem bright enough to be morning yet—when the large, heavy arm draped across her stomach tugs her backwards into a very large, firm body.

She has a moment of blind panic before memories of last night filter through her sleepy haze and—

The bed creaks and shifts and her eyes pop open.

“Sorry,” Bucky brushes her hair back from her face. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after three,” he whispers back. “Go back to sleep.”

His voice has that early-morning gravel to it.

“Jesus, it’s hot in here,” she says, because it really is, she thinks she’s starting to sweat and sweating is making her more aware of the fact that she’s naked.

And sticky.

And wow, sex.

“We run hot, you know,” Bucky shrugs and Kate snags his metal hand and tucks the icy appendage under her armpit. “Gee, thanks, doll.”

“See, this is a bearable temperature now,” she mutters, closing her eyes. The heel of Bucky’s palm rests against the side of her breast.

“I was kind of worried you’d be freaking out,” he admits after a few moments of silence.

“Half of my brain isn’t even back online yet,” she shifts as he skootches closer to her. “A quarter of me is freaking out and a quarter of me just wants to go back to sleep and freak out in the morning.”

“I don’t want you to freak out. This wasn’t just—I really care about you, Katie—“

“ _We_ really care about you,” Steve cuts in, nipping at the skin of her neck. “Now, can you two stop talking? I’m trying to sleep here. We can all agree to not worry, or leave without speaking to each other, because we all like each other and work well together and have good sex together, now can we all please sleep.”

“ _Good_ sex?” Kate mutters mutinously. “I’m sorry, from where I was, that was _spectacular_ sex.”

“No sense in getting cocky,” Steve mumbles, “There’s always room for improvement.”

“You did not just,” Kate says. Bucky is muffling his laugh.

“You guys are the worst, and I’m leaving right now,” Kate informs them, and proceeds to fall back asleep.

* * *

“You need to shave,” she informs Steve over her mug. He’s wearing one of those stupid long-sleeve slimfit shirts. They’re stupid shirts because all she wants to do is rip them off and lick all of the muscles they highlight.

“This is good coffee,” Bucky calls from the kitchen. “I didn’t know our coffee could taste this good.”

“Why do I need to shave?”

“Your coffee _can’t_ taste this good,” Kate yells back. “Your coffee can only taste like sadness and disappointment. I’ve kept a coffee stash here for at least four months. Because,” she turns to Steve, “you’re all scruffy.”

“How _dare_ you,” Steve says in mock outrage.

“I have _beard burn_ ,” she cuts him off.

“Really? Let me see,” Bucky shoulders his way past Steve, dropping to his knees and kissing her shin before hefting one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Gack!”

“Oh, yeah, I can see it,” Bucky presses a kiss to the tender patch of skin. “Rough way to treat a lady, Steve.”

He kisses farther up her thigh before Kate grabs a fistful of hair and drags him up.

“Nuh-uh. You’re scruffy, too.”

“My mistake,” Bucky says, sliding his metal hand where his mouth had been, sliding his mouth against hers. “Let me make it up to you.”

The cool metal is soothing to her skin, but _of course_ Bucky doesn’t stop there.

“Wow,” he says as he runs a finger through her folds, a metal finger just sliding in because, yeah, okay, she’s that wet. “Is this from the coffee?”

“Oh my god, Barnes, fuck you,” she grits her teeth and manages to _not_ grind down on Bucky’s hand or topple him to the floor for prime face-sitting.

“Maybe later,” he shrugs. “Steve. How long until the meeting?”

“Twenty minutes? Fifteen,” he corrects.

“I can work with that,” Bucky says, crooking a no-longer-quite-so-cold finger inside her.

Kate’s hips jerk and this time she is far less successful in not slamming down on Bucky’s hand.

“ _Bucky,”_ she gasps out. “I swear to god if you make me drop my coffee—"

“Mother Mary,” Steve swears, crossing and grabbing the cup out of her hand. “Teach us to try and give you orgasms.”

“Don’t—need—your help for those, Rogers,” the words come out of her in short bursts, not even pretending to not rock against Bucky’s hand at this point.

The hazy realization of Bucky and metal arm filter through her orgasm desperation and she figures that, supersoldier and all that, he can probably handle her putting most of her weight on him.

So she does; she drops almost all of her body onto his hand and _god_ , it’s so _good_ , she wants to hold off, want to make this last but he’s got three fingers in her now and his thumb on her clit and he crooks the digits _just so_ and with a final cry, she’s coming.

“Huh,” she hears Bucky say. “And with seven minutes to spare.”

“Oh my god,” Kate doesn’t even bother trying to support her own weight. “I am never going to get anything done, ever again. God.”

Steve crosses to them, pressing his lips to her forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture; kissing Bucky square on the mouth with tongue and yep, there goes her productivity for maybe eternity, shot all to hell.

“Doll,” Bucky says once Steve’s released him and vanished into the bedroom. “As much as I’d really—God, _really_ —love to spend the rest of the day with my fingers in you, I kinda think we’d get some stares goin’ into the meeting.”

Kate blinks at him.

“Can I have my fingers back?” he smirks, and Kate realizes he’s holding most of her weight and her legs are clamped around the appendage in question. “Can’t keep ‘em here all day.”

Kate sniffs at him, tuning up her nose. “Excuse _you_ , Sarge, you’re the one who put them there.”

“Are you two really having this argument?” Steve reappears with a bundle of clothes. The clothes appear to be hers; or, at least, clothes that could _believably_ be hers. “The faster we get to the meeting, the faster we get out of the meeting, the faster we can—"

“Get back to fucking each other’s brains out,” Bucky finishes.

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“It’s what I would have said.” Kate’s shrug turns into a whimper as Bucky pulls his fingers out of her.

“Sorry, doll, I got you,” he apologizes, pressing his lips to her forehead and pulling her close as she settles back into her body.

“Clothes?” Steve holds the stack up to her. “Unless you _want_ to go in my shirt?”

“Are we still on for brunch?” she asks as she slips on the clothes.

“Why would we not?” Bucky looks at her strangely before shaking his head. “It’s Brunch Day.”

“Just checking,” Kate shrugs, reaching for her coffee from Steve. “Trade you?”

His brow furrows and he hands her the mug; in return she gives him a peck on the lips.

“Can I have one?” Bucky asks.

He’s very polite about it, so of course she obliges.

“C’mon, boys, we’re going to be late,” she calls, heading for the elevator.

“What kind of thank-you present do you think Billy would like?” she hears Bucky ask Steve in an undertone.

She can’t quite catch Steve’s response, which is a shame. She’s been wondering the same thing herself.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to climb into my dumpster and start burying myself in garbage I'll see you all later.


End file.
